


This is a torch song.

by ashers_kiss



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (the guy's a fucking Nazi - his pov is not a nice one), Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Natasha/Bucky if you squint, Ward POV, details in the notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 23:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3096782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashers_kiss/pseuds/ashers_kiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Touch me and you’ll burn.</i>
</p><p>Or:  Natasha reacts to the “eye candy” remark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is a torch song.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after the penultimate episode of season one (and oh, I felt _so vindicated_ , I'd hated Ward from the beginning, and I was, am, _so sick_ of remarks like that), and then promptly forgot all about it, until [copperbadge](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge) posted his _brilliantly satisfying_ [Personal](http://copperbadge.tumblr.com/post/104794465691/captainofthewinter-i-just-want-bucky-to-go-find), which I heartily recommend you all go and read.
> 
> Also, I am really, really, so fucking _angry_ at SHIELD right now, because - really? You keep the Nazi boy? _Really?_ >:(
> 
> Warnings for Ward's pov, specifically thoughts that relate to rape culture (which he has history of), where he assumes a woman is offering sex, when all she's doing is her job. He doesn't act on that assumption (if only because I couldn't write that, not because I don't believe he would). If that kind of thinking is triggering for you, please take whatever care you need to.
> 
> He's a really, really awful excuse for a human being (he's a _Nazi_ ), and his head is not a nice place. I want to expressly state that I don't condone this, and I hope the narrative here supports that.
> 
> Title (and part of the summary) from [Helen of Troy Does Countertop Dancing](http://dark-siren.tumblr.com/post/33447817536/helen-of-troy-does-countertop-dancing-the-world-is) by Margaret Atwood.

It’s Grant’s second night at this hotel, and it makes his skin crawl even as he gives the girl at reception his best smile. (It’s the only thing that makes him itch, at least – the place is cheap, but it’s clean.) She smiles back, an invitation if ever he saw one, but Grant’s main objective right now is keeping a low profile, so he takes his receipt, ducks his head and heads back to his room.

He wouldn’t normally stay more than one night – too risky, too stupid – but his ride’s been delayed by Captain America, and the next available extraction won’t arrive until 3am. This is the least suspicious option he has open to him.

That’s what he keeps telling himself, anyway. It’s easier if he ignores the echo of Garrett’s voice in his head, calling him all kinds of stupid.

His room light’s out. That should be his first clue. He doesn’t have time to notice the second before something small calibre is pressing deep into the soft of his throat, just under his jaw, and there’s a body against his side, the flicker of red out the corner of his eye.

“Eye candy, huh?” the Black Widow says, and he feels another of those guns dig into the small of his back (between vertebrae, but still enough to cripple him, if not take out an organ or two) as he shifts, starts to go for his own.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” another voice says, somewhere in the vicinity of the window – he doesn’t know it, but it sounds rough. Rusty.

He doesn’t know the voice, but the owner moves, slightly, lets the light coming through the window glint off metal, and – and he doesn’t know the voice, but he knows that arm, and it’s only the gun at his spine that stops his knees from going out from under him. He can feel his pulse picking up speed, mouth going dry – he thinks it’s a reasonable response to the situation. Whispered rumours of Russia and the Red Room echo in his head.

The Widow claims his attention with pressure into his spine – he’s amazed his knees _don’t_ give out – and guides him away from the door, towards the bed. “We’re going to have a little talk,” she practically purrs in his ear as the Winter Soldier pulls the blinds and flicks a light switch. Grant flinches at the flood of cheap white light; when he can see again, the Widow’s grin is sharp.


End file.
